Nan Songzi's eyes widened. Though the female cultivator before him still wore that alluring face, her expression and bearing were utterly unfamiliar. He forcibly suppressed his spiraling emotions, clutching his lower abdomen as his eyes nearly bulged from their sockets.
"You're not Tao Rong!"
"Tao Rong? You mean her?"
The purple-clad female cultivator's voice and tone had changed as well. Like her laughter, it carried a slight nasal note, low and pleasing to the ear, yet upon closer listening there seemed to be the clang of metal and iron within it, making it exceptionally distinct.
With a smile, she stretched out her hand and gave it a shake. The air around her abruptly rippled, and then a head still stained with blood appeared in her grasp, swaying slightly. The barely recognizable face on it was exactly the same as hers, but terror had twisted it beyond all shape.
The purple-clad woman held a beauty's head. Such a bizarre scene suddenly appearing before them struck with far too much force, and for a moment, everyone on the lake froze again.
Before long, Murong Qingyan turned her face away and let out a very soft sigh.
Nan Songzi's eyes nearly split from staring. He was a ruthless and vicious man himself, yet he had never made a habit of carrying around the heads of enemies he had killed.
Who exactly was this woman?
That was what he thought, and what he asked. Yet the purple-clad female cultivator merely pointed her sharp little chin at him.
"A lustful brat with no balls, and you think you deserve to know?"
Only then did Nan Songzi realize that the wound in his lower abdomen was practically fatal to him.
Once he understood that, he went mad. Violent emotions rushed into his head, squeezing it until